voices lost in the depth
by Paper Clock
Summary: You're a witch. You're Fleur Weasley. You're invincible. -— Fleur, Bill, and childbirth. Oneshot.


Thank you to that person out there who beta'ed for me. And for suggesting this pairing. This was written for the HPFC 2013 Summer Olympics Challenge, Round One. I don't own HP.

* * *

**come back with my heart.**

Every month, he swims out into the sea for no reason except that it's relaxing, and she scolds him because it must be insane—water isn't a pleasant thing at all. It messes up her _ohsopretty _silvery blond hair, turning them a terrible type of brown you'd think veela blood wouldn't allow. Of course, she can fix it right up with her wand, but it's still a bother.

Secretly, though, she's afraid. It's an irrational thought, but what if he drowns? He's a wizard, yes, and not a bad one (_don't you dare think that, _a voice scolds her), so he _probably _won't face any issues. Nevertheless, the dull watery gray and sloshing of the waves frightens her. It reminds her of the steady rhythm in horror movies that speeds up as you await the climax.

And if he drowns, all she can think is that part of her will be lost in the depths with him. She's given her heart to him; she wants him to take care of it. Isn't that a reasonable expectation?

He'll be swept away by the tide, like Gabrielle was. And if he's lost in the depths, he won't hear her calling to him. Just like Gabrielle, who opened her eyes in the sunlight, on dry land, and _not _in water.

**the damage you have done.**

_No_, she thinks. _It's not damage. I am blessed._

Fleur doesn't believe it for a second. She stares at herself in the mirror; there's barely a bump on her stomach, nothing to hint at what's happening, what has happen_ed. _How can she tell Bill? She watches, detached, as worry flickers across her reflection's face, but she feels nothing.

She's not ready for a family. Not at all. Not ready for a baby—_what is going to happen? _She doesn't want a baby, they're odd and unfamiliar, they're _babies. _She watches her reflection panic, and it finally catches up with her. Beautiful people, she thinks, stay calm, but her insides are in turmoil.

She turns away from the mirror and hopes no one can see the expression on her face. Her insides and outside must be the same right now, but they don't connect. She swallows.

_Pregnant._

And as if to prove it, she runs inside the bathroom and throws up.

**clouds always have rain.**

Well, at least he isn't going to pressure her to swim when she's pregnant, perhaps the only bright side she can think of. He (re)assures her every day that she is beautiful, their baby will be beautiful. She feels shallow for worrying about it, but in a few months he's staying home far more than he's supposed to so he can talk to her and the baby.

Still, she's afraid because people _die _in childbirth (_oh, please, you're a witch, you're Fleur Weasley, you're invincible_) and he seems afraid of this too. He stays optimistic, though, bringing her out into the sunlight and down the cottage steps. It's yellow and blue and green, and they cross into summer soon enough. The weather gets better, sunbeams glancing off the sea that's blue now, not gray.

The blue and yellow and green, and the seashells that seem to have turned from too-pale pink to _real _pink—it's beautiful. She lives in a beautiful world, and—

She's not beautiful. It feels like her chest is on fire and she can't breathe and it _hurts. _(_You're shallow. You only care about yourself.)_

Still, he stays with her. Even on the rainy days, when she can't watch him swim and she realizes that even if she hates water, it's familiar. Now she doesn't like rain, either, because they can't go outside and see the yellowgreenblue. The sky is gray again then.

**swept away by the tide.**

In the middle of the day, she feels something like a rip and screams.

There's no telling what happens next, except soon enough, a nurse is standing over her and he isn't there. _He isn't there, _and her first thought is that the rain drowned him, because surely something so awful can drown him.

She's going to die—the baby's coming and she's going to die. She's drowning in something, maybe her own blood or her screams or maybe just nothing but air. She. Can't. Breathe.

She has something to tell him.

_I love you—_

She holds on, barely finishing the sentence; she'll never forgive herself if he doesn't know that she loves (loved?) him for everything, the yellowgreenblue and not drowning in the sea and everything he gave her. This is all she can give him back.

Her voice is lost somewhere as she drowns in the darkness.

**the calm after the storm.**

She's _alive, _and he's there for her. (_See, you survived; you did it all on your own._) Their baby is born on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, quite coincidentally—or maybe it's, well, magic. She has only a little fuzz Fleur makes out to be the same shade as her own hair, and they name her Victoire, for victory. And maybe the victory she's referring to isn't the Battle of Hogwarts.

In the middle of the day, she steps out into the sunlight and finds her life again—the yellowgreenblue, the sea. Because as much as she hates it, it's still part of her life. Always. He joins her on the porch of their little cottage.

_You did it by yourself, _he tells her, holding Victoire in his arms. _I was just there to help you along._

Fleur looks at him, sees all his scars, and thinks maybe she's not obligated to be beautiful in a beautiful world. After all, he's not beautiful, not _that _way, and she hasn't thought of expecting him to be. Just herself.

She walks to the edge of her world and thinks, _the sea's pretty today. I think Victoire would like it._

There's a family in the sea.


End file.
